


You Can Look...

by olddarkmachine



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, POV Outsider, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism, authority kink, because the best part about jeith is the angst tbh, that being said the jeith is one-sided
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 08:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15837636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olddarkmachine/pseuds/olddarkmachine
Summary: “If you want, of course,” he tacks on, that smile turning dangerous with each word, as if it’s a challenge. A burning spark lines his ribcage as his brain goes blank, void of any comeback.Void of any words, really, as his mouth works around silent sounds.He never gets the chance to find them, as Shiro stands, following the example of just about every other officer in the room as Keith’s presentation comes to an anticlimactic end.James is still reeling, floundering right there in the meeting room as he watches Shiro saunter up to Keith, placing a soft touch to the small of his back as they both start to walk towards the exit together. That touch earns him a broad smile as he listens to what the captain says for what feels like an eternity.There’s no warning before Keith turns that smile to him, catching him openly staring with his mouth still slightly agape. Heart stuttering an unpleasant rhythm against the inside of his chest, he tries to look away, but it’s already too late.Keith winks.James feels it like a well placed punch to the throat.





	You Can Look...

**Author's Note:**

> Uh... Happy Hump Day! I don’t have an excuse for this other than the heart wants what it wants lol I hope you enjoy it at least half as much as I did.

James is aware that he hasn’t exactly been subtle in his yearning for Keith. Honestly, how could he be?

Keith is beautiful.

Made up of hard lines cut from desert stone and precious metals, he’s an all encompassing force. Strength runs itself through his lithe body, evident in his every step and each one of his angles that catch light like a gem.

Keith, is fucking beautiful.

It’s almost otherworldly in a way that had left James breathless the first time he’d seen him again out in the ruins of the city.

Of course, he later learned that that only made sense, since it turned out he wasn’t exactly human. But that was neither here nor there.

Another thing that James is aware of, is that he isn’t the only one that stares. He holds onto that fact as if its a buoy and he’s lost at sea, using it to assuage any guilt he feels for painting Keith with the color of his stare whenever he walks by.

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself, because Keith’s own gaze is locked onto someone else. A someone that it has always belonged to.

No one would ever stand a chance against Shiro wherever Keith was concerned, which was something James had come to terms with a long time ago, turning his disappointment into sharp words and bloodied fists. But now, it seems that the lieutenant is finally returning that gaze.

 _Captain_ , James mentally chides himself.

So wrapped up in each other, he knows neither would ever notice the lingering stares that would follow them both down halls, clinging to their forms hungrily before disappearing around a corner.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

It’s what he’s telling himself now, as he watches Keith flip through a holoscreen, tone just a shade off bored as his forest fire voice goes on about battle plans. They’re all almost lost on him as he watches the way the paladin’s lips form around the key words he needs to know.

_Voltron._

_Fight._

_MFEs._

“James.”

A strangled sound tangles in his vocal chords, almost choking him as his head snaps towards the voice, already knowing who it was.

Shiro’s stare is piercing, bright as a bullet that lodges itself between his eyes.

It seems, he did notice.

“Sir,” he says by way of greeting, making to stand and salute only to be stopped by a wave of Shiro’s floating arm.

“At ease,” the words are brushed with teasing as he drops into the seat beside him, turning his stare toward the man at the front of the room. A visible shift comes over the captain as he drags his attention down the long lines of Keith’s body in a way that James is all too familiar with. It seems to loosen something in him, as his shoulders curve, losing some of the commanding hardness as he seems to melt at the sight.

James knows the feeling.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Shiro asks quietly, saying it out of the corner of his mouth as if they’re swapping secrets. And maybe they would be if it wasn’t such an undeniable fact. That doesn’t stop the suddenness of it from making him jump as he straightens in his chair, shock making his spine a ramrod.

“Excuse me?” James returns, not entirely certain he’s heard properly. If he hasn’t, answering could be fatal.

If he has, well, honestly the result would be the same.

“Keith.” The name is all Shiro says as he nods his chin up towards the black paladin as if James needs him to point out who that is. As if James hadn’t chased Keith through school, through life, and through his dreams.

“I’m sorry, sir, I’m not sure I’m following,” he manages, cutting confused lines into Shiro with his gaze as if he might be able to find an answer.

“Call me Shiro.” There’s a barely there quirk of a smile playing along the captain’s profile at something Keith says.

“Okay. Shiro,” the name tastes funny on his tongue, “I’m still not sure I’m following.”

“You like him.” It isn’t a question. It’s a statement, said easily as if it isn’t something that James had hidden in the space between his sternum and heart in hopes that no one else would find it.

Breath stalling in his lungs, a silence wedges itself between them as James tries to catch up. As he saw it, he had two options. The first being a lie, though from the way Shiro is now looking at him, he suspects it wouldn’t do much good.

The second being the truth, which was hardly even an option at all.

He was damned if he did, and damned if he didn’t.

Shoulders sagging beneath the weight of what feels suspiciously like defeat, he tears his gaze away and fixes it instead on the safe surface of the table.

“It won’t affect my work,” he says lowly, metaphorical tail between his legs as he folds closer in on himself. At the corner of his vision, he sees Shiro press a cheek into the open palm of his metallic hand as he looks him over.

“I didn’t say it would,” he says simply.

“Then why bring it up?” James’ voice comes out sharper, filed to a point by his own curiosity and embarrassment. The sound of it makes his cheeks flush with heat that he feels all the way at the tips of his ears.  

“It’s not like I’ll ever come between you two.”

Swallowing around the bitter taste of it, he continues, lowering his voice almost in hopes that Shiro won’t hear it at all.

“I never stood a chance.”

The confession makes the captain quiet as he studies him. He can feel his stare tickle his skin like spiderwebs as he just looks. It gathers against his nerves, working them raw until he isn’t even sure if Shiro will say anything at all.

Which, of course, is when he does.

“Do you know where our room is?”

 _Our_ , he says, because they aren’t even trying to hide it anymore. If they ever had.

“This feels like a loaded question,” James grumbles, worrying his lip with his teeth as he finally looks back over to the commanding officer. The comment makes him laugh a little too loudly, the sound of it causing a pause in Keith’s words as his gaze flicks to them curiously.

Pulling out his tablet, James watches the way Shiro taps away that the screen before putting it away just as his own pings with a notification.

It shouldn’t sound ominous, but it does all the same as he feels a cascade of goosebumps tickle his skin.

“Come by tonight,” Shiro says easily as he fixes him with a fully realized smile. It makes him look younger, and for a blistering second, James gets why Keith’s eyes have always been set on him as if he was the brightest star.

For that second, he can’t even remember anything at all.

“If you want, of course,” he tacks on, that smile turning dangerous with each word, as if it’s a challenge. A burning spark lines his ribcage as his brain goes blank, void of any comeback.

Void of any words really as his mouth works around silent sounds.

He never gets the chance to find them, as Shiro stands, following the example of just about every other officer in the room as Keith’s presentation comes to an anticlimactic end.

James is still reeling, floundering right there in the meeting room as he watches Shiro saunter up to Keith, placing a soft touch to the small of his back as they both start to walk towards the exit together. That touch earns him a broad smile as he listens to what the captain says for what feels like an eternity.

There’s no warning before Keith turns that smile to him, catching him openly staring with his mouth still slightly agape. Heart stuttering an unpleasant rhythm against the inside of his chest, he tries to look away, but it’s already too late.

Keith winks.

James feels it like a well placed punch to the throat.

***

The door is nothing special. Just the same dull grey across heavy wood like every other door in the Garrison.

Yet it feels like it’s looming over him as James lets his eyes trace the numbers just to the right of it that mark it for what it is, and who it belongs to.

_Come by tonight. If you want, of course._

Shiro’s voice has been a repeated scratch of a broken record spinning round and round his mind since that afternoon.

_If you want, of course._

Does he want to?

Yes. Yes, he thinks does. In such a way that has left the weight of his desire pressed so heavily against his shoulders that even Leif mentioned his apparent need for some stress relief.

 _I would suggest a chiropractor,_  she’d said with a shrug before turning back to her tablet.

 _I would suggest some good dick,_  Rizavi had added with a shit eating grin.

 _I would suggest you all shut up,_  Kinkade had said, not even bothering to turn his attention from the gun he was cleaning as he ended any conversation on the topic almost as soon as it had started.

So yes, James did want. He wanted more than anything. He thinks.

But that small voice at the back of his mind in charge of his own self preservation couldn’t help but whisper that it felt more like a trap than anything. James was lucky in a lot of things, but this? This was not one of them.

Keith was the impossible. A far off dream that was unattainable, which only made him more desirable. He was freedom incarnate. A desert storm, the expanse of stars and a hot burning sun all rolled into one.

They were all beautiful to look at, but their power would destroy anything that was actually foolish enough to touch.

Well, unless that anything had liquid metal eyes, the strength of the universe in his palm, and the weight of the world on his shoulders.

The numbers before him begin to fade at their edges, bleeding out into the lighter grey of the wall behind it until they’re nothing more that a blot on his vision.

_If you want, of course._

He can’t do this.

It’s a simple fact.

James can’t do this.

Turning on his heel, he swallows the bitter taste of defeat as he takes a step away from the door, resigning himself to another night beneath a cold shower when he hears the soft footfalls of boots against tile.

“I knew you’d come.” Shiro says, something a lot like victory making his words upturn at their edges like a Chelsea grin. They catch James by surprise as he looks back over his shoulder to catch the tail end of Shiro’s gaze pulling away from his frame.

“You did?” He asks tersely, his tone turned sharp by the sudden spike of his pulse. When did he become so transparent, he wonders as he watches Shiro shrug as he goes to unlock the door.

 _That’s right,_  he thinks.  _About the time that Galra cruiser had fallen from the sky_.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Shiro’s voice is matter-of-fact as he opens the door, not bothering to look back and see if he’s even following as he pushes a foot over the threshold.

“Why me?” James asks suddenly, the question working itself out of him unbidden and causing the older man pause as he looks over his shoulder, running a quick, studying glance over him.

“Consider this a reward.” His smile and words are equally deadly, turning dark in a way that sends a shiver down James’ spine.

“One thing though,” he continues, turning away once more before disappearing through the door, leaving the rest of his warning behind him like an echo.

“You can look, but you can’t touch.”

Pulse racing and nerves raw, he watches as the door starts to close behind the captain in near slow motion.

It’s some kind of cosmic symbolism, he’s sure.

If it closes, he can walk away. If it closes on him, it will close on the opportunity, and he can return to his room and his own private fantasies that wouldn’t make him feel like a dead man walking.

If it closes, he can pretend he never showed up at all, pulled by his own desire to capture the endless stretch of night sky trapped in Keith’s eyes.

His hand smacks against the heavy wood before it can click shut, pushing it open and stepping in just in time to see Keith walk into the living area as he towels at his shower dampened hair. Something about how soft it makes him look, freshly cleaned and clothed in a soft black shirt and grey sweat, goes straight to his head as his gaze flicks between him and Shiro.

Smiling something feral, Keith looks him over as Shiro steps closer and presses a kiss to the top of his hair, lingering for just a moment longer than James thinks is strictly necessary.

“You came.” It feels like a finite statement that makes the air around him thick with all of his awkwardness. Standing there in their living room, James already feels like he’s floundering. Just a mere mortal, he never stood a chance against the forces of sun and moon, and he doesn’t even know why he thought he could.

Swallowing the sharp tang of his panic, he searches for something to say.

Anything to say really.

“Not yet,” he blurts, immediately regretting that that was the something his brain landed on. The joke is dead in the water, stretching a silence three feet thick between them in a way that makes him wish the ground would just swallow him whole.

Death would honestly be kinder.

At least, that’s what he thinks until Keith laughs. The sound of it is full bodied, filled with all the same hazy smoke of his voice as he throws his head back with it. James wonders why it sounds so foreign when he realizes that it isn’t a sound he’s ever heard before.

It’s another thing that no one else is privy to, something secret, and it makes his veins fill with fire. Keith’s laughter dies too quickly as he returns his gaze.

“No, you’re right, James.” There’s a shift in his chest at the way his name sounds on Keith’s tongue.

“Not yet.”

***

Their bedroom is big. Far bigger than any James has had at the Garrison, and for a brief moment he wonders if that’s just one of the perks of being a captain.

Or Takashi Shirogane.

Or both.

He also wonders if one of the perks is the king sized bed that takes up most of the space with its soft, dark comforter and even darker sheets.

“Can we get you anything?” Keith asks, pulling his attention away from the carefully made bed.

 _We_ , he said because apparently they’re that kind of couple.

Those two letters burn just to the left of his chest as he shakes his head, trying his best to fix his gaze on any point in the room that won’t act like kindling to the fire already glowing against the inside of his sternum. Try, being the most operative word, since no matter where it seems he looks, there’s indisputable proof of their togetherness.

Two helmets sitting proudly on a dresser on the other side of the room.

A picture on a bookcase showcasing two bright smiles.

Matching nightstands on either side of the bed, each holding the weight of two silver chains and two golden rings.

“Is this okay?” Keith follows up, tilting his head as he observes James. He leaves this up to interpretation, though the implication is weighted heavy as his gaze cuts deep.

It’s the question of the hour really. One James would also like the answer to, even though he supposes his being there should be answer enough.

He’s nothing but a man caught in the desert, and the hope of water has him on his knees.

There’s a hush over the room as the couple watches him, waiting for an answer. It stretches long, uncomfortably so, until he finally nods.

That earns him a smile and a small purr as Keith turns to a plush seat in the corner, pressing his palms into the the armrests for leverage as he starts to push it towards him.

James hates the way he notices how the light catches in his dark hair as it falls around his face.

“How about you give the orders,” Shiro speaks up, fixing him with a look that almost burns him alive before tacking on a heated “sir?”

The honorific sends a flare that dances across his vertebrae, stalling his breath as his mind dances over it again and again.

One of his downfalls— as he’s been told— is that he cares too much for rules. As if it was bad to maintain some form of order. As if it was bad to follow command.

Some, would say it makes him a less than pleasant force to be around.

Notably, Rizavi.

But with the way the couple was looking at him, both with looks of expectations and intent, he can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, those people are wrong.

Mouth gone dry, James nods slowly in agreement, feeling the faint pull of his own smile as Keith’s burning palm presses against his chest and pushes him slowly down into the newly placed seat behind him. Following his descent, he dips in close enough for him to catch the heady scent of mahogany and desert rain clinging to his skin.

“Get comfortable, sir,” Keith soothes in his ear, breath tickling James’ skin and making it flush. Pausing there long enough to press his nose to his temple, he feels the ghost of Keith’s lips along his high cheekbone as he pulls away.

Behind him, James sees Shiro’s silvered stare catch the light with interest from where he sits at the edge of the bed.

“Enjoy the show.”

Lightning prickles over his skin as Keith moves through the space between him and Shiro, his lithe frame moving with the same purpose of a jungle cat ready to make its kill.

“How should we start, sir?” Shiro asks, reaching out towards Keith when he gets close. Heart stuttering and mind reeling in a failing attempt to catch up, James watches the way Shiro’s hands envelope Keith’s hips, dwarfing them in a way that makes his insides seize with want.

“I don’t know,” he breathes, unthinking as he watches Shiro’s thumbs brush back and forth, tracing the shape of Keith’s hips beneath the seam of his shirt. The captain hums low with disappointment.

“There’s nothing worse than a commander who can’t settle on an order, is there?” He asks, his question pointing upward as Keith runs his fingers through his fringe and pushes gently back until he’s looking up at him.

“No, there isn’t,” he agrees haughtily, dragging his fingers down Shiro’s temple and along the line of his jaw, only stopping once they’ve reached the full of his lips. James shifts slightly in his seat as he imagines the way he’d take those fingers if they were poised just so over his mouth.

“What are your orders, sir?” Keith asks slowly, hungrily even, as he looks over his shoulder. James stares in open wander as he sees the lightning strike roiling behind his eyes.

He can hear the other question trapped within his words, which have been tempered into something softer as they echo his earlier question.

_Is this okay?_

It’s an assurance. If he wants, he can back out. But faltering beneath the twin storms that make up the couple, he fully realizes his answer.

He could back out sure.

But he doesn’t want to.

Sitting up straighter in his seat, James sets his face with resolution as he pulls his gaze away from Keith, instead aiming it toward Shiro. Curiosity has him arching a brow in silent challenge.

“Undress him.” The order makes Shiro smile as he holds James’ stare, leaning in slow as he presses it into Keith’s hip. Slipping his hands under the hem of his shirt, he sees the small nip he places on his bone before pushing up.

James twitches in his pants as he watches the soft fabric ruck up towards Keith’s shoulder blades. From where he sits, he can see the darkened lines of scars that litter his skin, each telling a story that he wishes he could know. Dragging a tongue across his bottom lip, James wonders what it must feel like to lavish each and every mark with attention until they’re marred by a different kind of scar.

One that Keith would feel across his heart instead of across his skin.

Shiro’s hands continue their track up Keith’s front, causing his head to roll back as he ghosts his own palms across the back of Shiro’s hands as he helps him push the shirt over his head.

Leaning back down, Shiro mouths at his hips, leaving open mouthed kisses across them until he’s rolling his hips in shallow thrusts against each languid touch.

A moan stalls James’ breathing as he watches the captain push his fingers beneath the waistband of Keith’s sweats, pausing long enough to flick his gaze up to him before tugging them down quickly.

Keith is beautiful.

That’s undeniable fact.

But before him now, James thinks that maybe beautiful doesn’t even quite describe him. He’s glorious in a way that artists could only pray to capture, that writers could only pray to breathe into words, and that musicians could only pray to put into a song.

Keith is a barely contained storm that leaves havoc in its wake if only because there’s nothing that can quite stand up to its power.

He’s gorgeous.

James watches hungrily, tracking the way his muscles move beneath his skin as he unclothes Shiro, pulling him up to stand as he pulls his shirt off with care, and dropping gracefully to his knees as he pulls down his pants. His mouth pools when he watches Keith look up, unmoving until Shiro ushers him back up with a soft tap of his fingers to his chin.

“Like what you see?” Keith asks, dropping his voice low as he turns to face James. Ivory plays beautifully against pink as he bites into the full of his bottom lip, his eyelids fluttering slightly as Shiro runs a palm slowly up his front.

 _Yes_ , James thinks as he follows the path of his hand up towards Keith’s throat.  _Very much so_.

“What are your next orders, sir?” Shiro pushes, growling slightly as he runs his other hand down Keith’s side and squeezing at his hip. It pulls a sweet sound from Keith’s mouth as his hips roll again.

His skin is slightly pink, warmed by what he can only imagine is the same burn running through his own veins as he traces his hard line of his cock against his stomach.

“I want you to grab him,” James says, the order barely a scratch in his dry through. It almost hurts to talk as he tries to imagine what it would be like to choke himself on Keith.

“That’s a vague order,” Shiro pauses long enough for the heat of the room to suffocate. “Sir.”

“His hair,” he says through the crush. His own fingers twitch, wanting to reach out and grab the onyx waves themselves. James has always wondered if it’s soft, something like silk, or cashmere, or any number of fine things.

“Grab him by his hair,” he says again, as he tries to remember how to breathe.

“Like this?” Shiro asks, twisting his fingers in the long waves that cascade down Keith’s neck and tickle the space just between his shoulder blades. James eyes trace the pretty arc of his throat as Shiro tugs, leaning in to brush his lips across Keith’s pulse, all the while keeping his burning metal stare on James.

“Like that,” James breathes, trying to remember how to sound firm as his gaze gets trapped along the contrast of Shiro’s tanned skin and the onyx that’s wrapped around and between it like ribbon.

“It always was too long for regulation,” Shiro prompts, saying the words into Keith’s throat. Mouth going dry, James leans forward in his seat, bracing his forearms on his knees. His pulse is crashing through him like wild waves, filling him with the same uneasy thrum of an ocean just before a storm. The cadence of it fills his ears, mixing with the sound of hot breaths that he realizes just moments later, are his own.

“Yes, it was,” he agrees softly. There’s a throaty chuckle that settles across his skin when James notes that smoky rasp that has haunted his dreams for far too long. Keith presses his hips back just slightly, and Shiro hums into his throat as he looks at him expectantly.

Yet, it isn’t his voice that speaks up.

“What next?” Keith’s voice wraps around him, setting a lit match to kerosene as it turns into a moan when Shiro tightens his grip on his hair. James shifts in his seat, trying to alleviate some of the pressure of his pants as Keith rectifies.

“What next, sir?”

He knows what he would do next, but it’s starting to feel like the stakes of this game are escalating, each of his choices growing more clear. Each moving him closer to a very dangerous edge.

“Kiss him?” James says, already kicking himself as he hears the way it sounds more like a question, even to his own ears.

“Is that an order, or a suggestion?” Shiro’s voice holds full command, snapping sharply even as he levels his stare over something soft before adding a tempered “sir.”

There’s a control there that he can only wish to have one day. Takashi Shirogane. The golden boy of the Garrison. Groomed to be the shining star that ushered them into a new era of space exploration. He had it all.

Then he lost it all.

Yet even after being torn apart and put back together, to hell and back, and to the furthest reaches of the universe, he still found it in himself to be strong.

To be a leader.

James’ chest heaves around the smoke created by the fire burning low within him at the realization that even through all that, here, he was the one giving orders. Straightening his back against the seat, he squares his jaw.

“It’s an order,” he barks, letting the flames seep into his tone. It pulls smiles sharp as scythes across both their lips as they watch him. “Kiss him.”

Keith is the one who follows, turning away from James and pushing forward into Shiro. Running his palms over his chest, Keith follows an unseen track up the captain’s neck before settling them against Shiro’s nape. A shudder works itself down Shiro’s frame as he slides his arms around Keith’s waist, splaying his hands across his back.

James admires the color of Keith’s skin beneath the bright metal of Shiro’s prosthetic.

The room is smothering, heated with the odd combination of all their desire. It clings to his skin in a way just a shade short of uncomfortable as he shifts again, his arousal almost painful where it strains against his pants.

Before him, Keith slowly lowers himself to the bed, pulling Shiro back with him until he’s balanced above him. The room’s light catches amethyst as Keith flashes his stare to James as he rolls his hips up against Shiro in earnest.

James is the one that moans with it as he finally presses his hand against himself, his own hips bucking up into the pressure in search of more. He feels like an eager teen again as he palms at himself, rolling his hand with the slow movements of Keith’s hips as he opened his mouth against Shiro’s.

Heavy breaths lick across the air as they languidly move against each other, each movement made like a well practiced dance.

Minutes, or maybe even hours pass, as James watches, memorizing the way Keith moves under sure hands and the way his voice wraps around moans before it stops feeling like enough.

He wants more.

So much more.

“Fuck him,” he hears himself say, the command filled with authority that makes the couple still as Shiro looks up at him. A devil’s smile arches across his kiss bitten lips as burning embers turn his usual silver stare black.

“With pleasure,” he replies, reaching to one of the nightstands to grab a small bottle from its drawer. James watches intently as Keith runs his fingers up and down Shiro’s thigh, waiting in just as much anticipation as he slicks his metallic fingers.

“Catch,” Shiro laughs once he’s done, tossing the lube towards him with a quick wink. It lands with a soft sound in his lap as Shiro leans over Keith once more, leaning his mouth down to his throat before slowly pushing a finger in.

With his own cock throbbing, James looks away long enough pop the button of his pants, breathing a small sigh at the relief as he frees himself from the constricting clothing. Opening the lube with a small click, he catches the liquid in his palm before capping it once more and dropping it beside him on the floor.

A hitching gasp falls off the edge of his lips as he wraps his fingers around his length, working himself as he gets lost within the motions of Shiro’s metal hand as it works itself in and out of Keith.

Sitting back to admire his work, the captain brushes his human hand across Keith’s skin, slowly working its way up his front before settling on his throat. James bites into his lip as he imagines what it must feel like to have Keith’s pulse against his palm, and his stare so trusting.

Pleasure pulses through James’ like a nebula as he watches Shiro’s form soft words that he can’t hear as he pulls his metal hand away. Keith’s head bobs in compliance as Shiro lines himself up.

The push is slow, almost painfully so as he settles himself in inch-by-inch. It’s so slow, that by the time he bottoms out Keith is muttering a string of pleas like a mantra as he reaches up and digs his nails into Shiro’s back as if he can persuade him to move faster by force.

Even James can feel the heart stopping burn of the slow movements as he watches Shiro drag back out.

“Takashi.” Keith’s whimper is small as it punctuates the air before Shiro pumps back in, pulling a sound James could never have hoped to imagine from his lips.

He repeats the motion, each time making Keith keen louder than the last. James tries to follow the brutally slow tempo, failing as his hand moves forcefully against him as if moved by an unseen force. The movements are just too slow, set in a way that makes his heart stutter much quicker than the fast tempo he has set for himself.

Keith’s breaths grow more hushed, more shallow in a way that’s altogether too intimate. This is something meant for private, darkened rooms, James knows, as he watches him press each soft keen into Shiro’s pulse. His own fingers twitch as he watches Keith’s run angry red lines down Shiro’s shoulders and arms.

For a fleeting moment, he can’t help but think they look like the black lion’s wings.

“Show me,” he bites out, his hand tightening around his length as he pushes his back against the seat. Shiro’s eyes flash quick, like a viper strike as they look up towards him before he sinks his fingers into the hair at Keith’s crown, giving it a sharp tug until his head was angled back enough for him to see his blissful expression once more.

A sinful crescent of a smile breaks around his moan as he looks at James through heavily lidded eyes, fixing his stare on him as Shiro pushes into him with a particularly sharp thrust.

The shuddering gasp is his own as he works his hand against himself, timing it now with Shiro’s sure movements.

“Shiro,” Keith hitches his name between gasps, cheeks flushed and lips shining as he keeps his stare burning a hole through James’ chest. There’s an almost painful curl of heat that twines itself through his ribcage at the sound, and he growls with it. It feels possessive, and the thought almost makes him laugh as he feels the hot sting of tears as they prick his eyes.

After all, he isn’t allowed to be jealous.

All he is here, is a part of a game that’s tearing into them all, picking them apart and putting them back together again in the best way.

“Shiro,” Keith moans again, the captain’s name breaking beneath the burning heat of his want as he arches up into him. Pulling one hand away, he reaches above him.

For a fleeting second, James lets himself believe he’s reaching for him as he curls his fingers into the dark colored sheets.

“Please.”

Quiet as a prayer, it cracks through his chest, leaving fractures in bone as he bucks up into his hand. Digging the fingers of his free hand into the seat back, James lets his head fall back as he breathes out a particularly painful moan.

If he looks down the tip of his nose, he can just make out the vague impression of each one of Shiro’s thrusts.

“Do you think we should let him come, sir?” Shiro asks, his voice wild and gruff. Animalistic in a way that tells James it doesn’t even really matter what he answers.

“Yes,” he manages to push through his own quickly building pleasure, his fist pumping as erratically as each one of Keith’s hitching breaths. Dragging his gaze back down to the bed, he watches as Shiro sinks down and bites into the juncture of Keith’s neck and shoulder.

“God yes,” Keith’s voice echoes his own as his spine curves further.

It doesn’t take long for Keith to fall off the edge, his loud keen stealing all the air from the room as his eyes fall shut and his lips widen around the sound.

 _He’s just so god damn beautiful_ , James thinks as he follows him, his own moan twisting with Shiro’s in the space of the room.

The ebbing bliss of it is like an ocean tide as it rolls out over his skin, dragging him down beneath its current for several seconds of the most peaceful drowning. It’s a small death, but it’s powerful in a way that leaves James pleasantly numb for several seconds.

“—ve you,” he hears the end of words whispered as the world comes back to him, drenched in Shiro’s voice as he dips down close to Keith’s ear. The softness of it is barbed wire digging into his skin as he watches Keith nose at his temple, dragging his lips across his skin with an even sweeter “I love you.”

Tucking himself back into his pants, James bit into his lip, reveling in the sting of his sharpened canine as it pulled blood from his own flesh if only because it kept his attention from the scene before him. Watching was fun until it showed him everything he truly wanted, wrapped up pretty for someone else.

Quietly, he pushes himself out of the chair, ignoring the slight shake in his thighs as he makes his way to the door when he hears the sharp sound of a throat being cleared.

“James.” Keith’s voice is cracked and used, turning his name into something sacred. Something that he’ll replay in his own darkened room until his memory inevitably loses the exact timbre of it. It’s a sound that stalls him, freezing him with his hand poised just above the metal knob of the door. Looking over his shoulder, he sees that the couple has shifted so Keith is on his stomach, watching him carefully as Shiro looms over him.

“Yeah?” James breathes, catching the way Shiro eyes him as he leans in to press a gentle kiss against Keith’s nape.

“Keep up the good work.” Keith smiles something sweet as he almost purrs, pressing back into the touch. He can already feel the budding bloom of desire as it buries itself low in his gut once more at the sight.

The moment, with all its softness, goes dark in an instant as Keith’s eyes flash with a juxtaposing wickedness that turns his insides to ash as he continues.

“Then, maybe next time, you can touch.”

*********************


End file.
